Sick Day
by LightofEvolution
Summary: Even the great Draco Malfoy gets sick sometimes. But, this time, Hermione is there to help. At least a little.


**A/N: While I'm working on the last two chapters of Do it, I took a break to write a little birthday one-shot for a dear friend: LondonsLegend. I want to thank you for your continued support, your advice in all things life, and the many, many great conversations!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't know anything (characters, places, etc.), and no money is made from it.**

 **Attention: Unbeta'ed. If you find mistakes, you may keep them.**

* * *

Hermione awoke with a start. Disorientated, she needed some moments to become aware of her surroundings: her bed with the red comforter, the books on her night stand, her wand resting atop of them. Yes, she was still in her Head Girl's dorm at Hogwarts.

Then, she heard a sound. A horrible, almost inhuman sound. And it came from the bathroom she shared with the Head Boy. Grabbing her wand, she slipped from under the covers and, with her feet still bare, padded over to the door. The noises didn't stop.

Was it Peeves, doing who knew what with Moaning Myrtle in the pipes?

Did the water pipes break and freed something monstrous from the Chamber of Secrets?

Carefully, she opened the door…

Only to find her fellow Head Boy, the Slytherin Prince himself, in all his irresistible glory vomiting into the toilet.

It was not a pretty sight. And the sounds...they reminded her of Jurassic Park now that she was in the same room. The smell of bile made her flourish her wand and cast a scented candle spell (one she invented while being on the run with two teenage boys).

The tall man who had stopped emptying the content of his stomach into the toilet and now sat beside it looked absolutely miserable. Pitying, in fact.

"You okay, Draco?" The poor creature in front of her was even reduced to his first name. Malfoys weren't greenish-pale with automatic tears streaming down their faces and wiping their mouth.

"No. Not at all. I must have eaten-" he gulped. "I must have had something that didn't sit well with me-" More retching followed.

Hermione sighed, cursing her soft spot for the blond that had developed over the last few months. "Let me help you." She cleaned him up magically, then spoke a discreet sanitizing spell. When she extended her hands to him, he looked up to her with bloodshot eyes, momentarily devoid of it's usual wicked gleam.

"What?"

"Come on, I'm tucking you in." She wriggled her fingers in front of his face.

"No. Leave me dying here on the cold bathroom floor," Draco whined.

"And have all the pretty witches accusing me of neglecting their top object of desire? Nope." Her words elicited a weak smile on the wizard's face. "You find me desirable?"

"As desirable as a stomach flu at the moment," Hermione replied. At the mentioning of his stomach, Draco seemed to ponder the cooperation of his intestines again because his gaze grew unfocused.

The witch shook her head. "Bed time, bad boy." He didn't resist this time.

With an arm slung around his waist and a lot of sweet talk, she finally brought Draco to his bed. When his head sunk on his emerald coloured pillow, and she tucked the blanket firmly around him, Hermione noticed how clammy his skin felt.

"You have a fever," she diagnosed while laying a palm on his hot forehead.

"I must be, 'cause I fantasize about Hermione playing doctor with me," Draco mumbled, eyes half-closed. It was oddly cute, and she allowed herself to giggle and run her fingers through the impossibly soft blond hair of his head.

"Mhhh, feels nice. Love when you touch me."

Should she call Madam Pomfrey? He was seriously ill when he said things like _that._ She turned to leave for the infirmary, but a hand gripped her wrist from under the blanket.

"Stay with me. Please." Hermione's heart melted. She knew he simply wanted human company in his misery, and she wasn't sure how much of his behaviour was maybe an act, but when he repeated his "Please," quietly and lifted the covers, she was sold. Summoning a bucket and placing it next to his head for safety reasons in case of spontaneous vomiting, she climbed onto the mattress next to him.

Who knew Draco Malfoy was a cuddler? He always seemed so controlled, so distant to his conquests that Hermione couldn't imagine him doing to them what he now did to her: he threw his arms around her and pulled her close to his body, burying his face in her neck, her back flush against his front. In short: he cuddled her like a teddy bear.

The sudden proximity was a tad overwhelming for the witch, but, after a while, she got used to his body. Draco, on the other side, didn't have these problems and, exhausted, fell into a deep slumber within witch was slightly ashamed at how much she enjoyed it then, lying snuggled into him. He was sick, after all, and it wasn't right to find pleasure in the results.

Though, slowly, but steadily, she drifted into sleep as well.

* * *

"Usually I get the witches to leave before they have a chance to ask for breakfast." The next time Hermione awoke, it was from these, unmistakably Draco-ish words. They led her brain to a cascade of memories from the past night.

" _Usually_ , the witches get a more pleasurable show than I did, or so rumour has it," she quipped back, voice still husky from sleep. But when she opened her eyes, she was met with a surprise: Draco stood next to his bed, showered and changed if the alluring scents drafting over to her were any indication. In his hands, he held a tray with breakfast: orange juice, scrambled eggs, toast, croissants and many more delicious things on it. Gesturing her to scurry over, the blond placed it on the mattress between them.

"What's all this?" she asked, a bit confused, because, indeed, she had seen many witches on the walk of shame through the Heads' common room.

"I was kind of hungry after sacrificing everything I ate yesterday to the porcelain god."

"Ah, okay." Hermione noticed how disappointed her voice sounded and immediately chastised herself for the small flicker of hope she had felt upon seeing the tray. "I'm going down to the Great Hall for breakfast then."

Her feet were already on the floor when she heard Draco chuckle, "You don't really think I'd eat that all alone, right? Stay for breakfast, Hermione." To hear her given name from him was still rare, but the night they had spent together must have changed something in their dynamics.

"You know if I tell that anyone that you invited me for breakfast in bed, they will think I made it up?" Another deep, pleasant laughter from the wizard followed at her words. "Probably," he replied, "But then, do me a favour, and adapt the events that led up to the breakfast, yes?"

Now it was her turn to laugh. "Bathroom contact with a lot of body liquids involved?" she suggested and settled back on the bed.

"Absolutely." Grinning, he grabbed the teapot on the tray. "No sugar, no milk?" he asked.

"Yes, please."

It turned out to be a very pleasant and highly conversational breakfast with Draco in his bedroom. And Hermione had the feeling it wouldn't be the last. Hopefully, with other body liquids involved some time.


End file.
